And those poor innocent babes between the stones
And my hot Arab's hoofs. We sav'd them all--
Thank heaven, we sav'd them all! but I said no
To that sad woman, midst her shrieks. Ye dare not
Ask me for mercy now.


THE USURPER.


He bears him like a prince, save that he lacks
The port serene of majesty. His mood
Is fitful; stately now, and sad; anon,
Full of a hurried mirth; courteous awhile,
And mild; then bursting, on a sudden, forth,
Into sharp, biting taunts.

* * * * *

New power
Mounts to the brain like wine. For such disease,
Your skilful leech lets blood.


RIENZI ON HIS DAUGHTER'S MARRIAGE.


A bridal
Is but a gilt and painted funeral
To the fond father who hath yielded up